


Trinitite

by im_defective



Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: FunGhoul Origin Fic, M/M, Pop Rocks, Rimming, get-together, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-26
Updated: 2010-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_defective/pseuds/im_defective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We may not live to see tomorrow,” Frank said around the grin forming on his lips. He stroked down Party’s forearm and pried his hand off his hip. Interlocking their fingers together, he kissed the leather clad knuckles. His breath was short and shallow when it puffed out against the skin of their hands.</p><p>Party visibly swallowed, his jaw shifting back and forth for a second or two.<br/>“I’ve got a Trans Am.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trinitite

**Author's Note:**

> The term “Wirehead” is based on an idea found in the short story titled “Death by ecstasy” from Larry Niven. Dedicated to ladyfoxxx for being the first to put two and two together, effectively birthing the dust-verse. This is for you. Many thanks to xxbakacoconutxx and solsticezero for Beta-ing, back rubbing, and generally being equal parts cheerleaders and evil dictators. Also for roxy_palace for creating the Dustverse rec board, and popheart for believing in my smut writing abilities. Originally posted November 26th 2010

 

   The last note faded out into white static as Dr. Deathdefying’s radio show disappeared from the analog waves of Bob’s geezer of a pick-up truck. It was about forty years old, and certainly acted that way. Frank glanced over at Bob as he banged his fist on the console, trying to get a new radio signal. They’d managed to outrun the acid rain, so he couldn’t really complain. They were on their way to meet a camp, hopefully to trade supplies. If they were lucky, they might even get to stay with the caravan for a while. If they could find the fucking meeting place that is.

 

   Bob spent the entire day blazing a path across the endless stretch of zones three and four. After hours of biting dust particles and waving mirages, they finally approached their destination. A caravan of busted up RV’s and SUV’s created a protective ring around the smaller, faster, muscle cars. One car was jacked off to the side alone. Bob parked his pick-up over by the other looming 4x4’s. Frank was anxious to be out and moving after the day long trip through the zones. They took the long way around as to not draw the enemy near. Even now, in the crisp desert air; Frank scanned the horizon looking for latex suits. They tended to crash and recede like some sort of toxic sea foam. Jumping out of the passenger side of Bob’s truck, Frank let himself drop down hard. Pain shot up from his heels, weeding it’s way behind his eyes, as his battered nerves registered the shock. He grinned in spite of himself, proving once again that he was human.

 

   Frank patted the front of his vest for the crushed cardboard box holding his last few cigarettes. Dragging the worn pack from his pocket, he frowned down at how few he really had. Four. Four fucking cigarettes. He jammed his pack back into his vest pocket, and stuffed the tiny stick between his lips in annoyance. His lighter in one hand, his other cupping the flame, he lit up and puffed out. The horizon was a flat, thick line, dividing the inky black sky from the pale, glittering sand of the desert. He was sick and tired of looking at the desert. Sand, sand, bush, sand, tree, sand. It was better than Battery City though.

 

   Battery City was a gleaming bucket of oil and residue rising out of the sands of zone one. Constantly buzzing with electricity in the mind and body, it drugged it’s inhabitants into a stupor. Diesel martinis and burnt out remains of human flesh. Carbo-sluts and Vinyl-whores sold their own skin to become an organic appliance. Robots wearing the elastic skin of the people they once were. If your worked hard, you could stay young forever. If you stayed young, you could work forever. Anything just to stretch the wrinkles a little harder. Parents, teachers, police officers, the god damned president were all just machines working toward a goal that they would never reach.

 

  Eventually they fell into the robotic routines handed to them personally by their beloved data overlord. Get up, go to work, come home, have a can of slop to eat, plug in, go to sleep. Everyone was plugging in, it was almost a given. It was like showering, eating, socializing, and fucking all rolled into one.

 

   “Plugging in was what ended the war,” they said.

 

   They said it because their teeth were rotting out of their skulls. The flesh was busy being replaced by cybernetics, and plugging in was now cordless. Well, some people liked to be corded still; better voltage and all that. Wireheads were dangerous little fucks.

 

   “Plugging in” was literally just that. It was a port directly into your nucleus accumbens. Which is just fancy talk for the pleasure center of the brain. All the addiction of drugs, all reasons to fuck, all the rewards systems that humans built over the years were smashed to the ground by an attractive model advertising big brother’s little wonder. Imagine an endless supply of dopamine and prolactin just oozing out of your brain and into your blood stream.

 

   All paid for and backed by the latex suits on the horizon.

 

   The war ended because people plugged in, and forgot what mattered. Most never pulled the plug back out. Twitching, blood shot eyes flew toward the digital clocks inside steel walls, inside a rotting corpse. Battery City, corroded in it’s own acid, was the last standing humanoid city on the west coast. It was a fucking horrorshow.

 

   Frank jumped out of his thoughts as the burning filter connected with his fingers. Dropping the tiny remains of his cigarette, he sucked his finger into his mouth to hush the screaming nerves. Looking away from the horizon, he started over toward the camp. Bob was already gone. Having no other idea as to what he was supposed to be doing, Frank let himself wander around the caravan. Other members were scattered about; some on broken lawn chairs, others on tattered pieces of cloth, the majority on the desert floor itself. Only a handful were still awake at such a late hour, mostly just those on guard duty. He found himself only a few feet away from the roaring bonfire crackling away in the center of the caravan. There was something soothing about the warmth of the flames, yet at the same time terrifying. The long wisps of smoke told the tale of when the bombs fell.

 

   The crackling fires of L.A. echoed in his ears as he was sent backwards. The pig bombs of 2017 rocketed overhead as Bob pushed his head down into the shelter. Who the fuck used pigs for bombs anyway? The last thing Frank saw was the door slamming above him, shutting out the explosions. In the dark they clung to each other. Frightened, and listening to the sound of the world as they knew it crashing down, Frank thought distantly of his family. He had a wife, he had babies, he had an entire existence back home. As soon as the bombs started to rain down harder, he knew that was the end. Life as he knew it was over.

 

   Fires broke out and rolled across the land for two weeks, as Bob and Frank remained locked in the bomb shelter. Eventually emerging from the small, cramped sanctuary; Frank was greeted by an alien world. The bombs effectively returned the city to the desert. There was nothing left but shattered skeletons of landmarks and scorched remains of humanity. Taking whatever they could find; they loaded supplies and precious fuel into the back of Bob’s truck. His trusty rust-bucket managed to escape the blast by being in a garage on the edge of the city. Frank remembered the way Bob stroked the hood as he fished out his keys. Bob’s last possession in the world was a beat-up truck. At least it got them the hell out of there.

 

   After navigating the smoldering heap of metal that was once L.A., Bob flipped on the radio in the dashboard. Desperate to get a signal, Frank batted his hand out of the way and searched for a station. White noise crackled and popped through the speakers before settling on an emergency broadcast. It was a calm, cool voice, recounting the last two weeks of hell. The pig-bombs were aimed at every major city in the U.S. effectively crippling the entire country. The east coast got it the worst.

 

   In essence, New Jersey had been blasted straight into the Atlantic Ocean. The bombs fell on New York City, Philadelphia, and Washington; virtually severing the state from the landmass. There was nothing left of it, much less survivors. Frank sat in shocked silence as the news sank in. His whole life, everything he’d ever loved and worked for, now lay beneath the crushing depths of the Atlantic. His family, his friends, his fucking sanity--gone.

 

   Upon the end of the program, the broadcaster gained a chipper tone as he chirped out,

   “Have a bright and sunny day!”

 

   Frank punched the radio until his knuckles broke.

 

   A log fell over and dragged Frank back to the present. It crackled a bit more and sent bright orange sparks soaring upwards. Following the embers toward the sky, Frank noticed another person standing across from him. His pale face and flaming hair gave him an otherworldly feel. His eyes latched onto Frank’s hungrily. Turning away out of nerves, Frank patted around for his pack of cigarettes again. Pulling one out and lighting it, he let the smoke swirl against the sides of his lungs. Glancing back up, he noticed that the boy was still staring at him with great intensity. It was beginning to creep Frank out. At least, that’s what Frank classified this feeling as for now.

 

   The moon was rising behind his head, bathing his frame in cool light. The fire in front of them popped and cracked in happiness, the orange hues licking at the boy’s face. His eyes were too dark to tell what color they were with the firelight, but they were framed by dark lashes and brows that did not match his crimson hair. His lips were thin and set in a small frown. They looked soft, Frank marveled. His own were chapped and full of sand. Frank darted out a tongue to wet them, dragging dirt and grit in between his teeth. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, feet firmly planted on the desert floor. The flames from the fire waved and flickered his image as Frank pulled on his cigarette. He could already feel his blood quickening under the stranger’s heated gaze.

 

   Blowing smoke out through his nose, he furrowed his brow and assessed the boy further. His jeans were filthy and tattered from the desert, and hugged every curve from toe to hip. The boots he was wearing were too close to the fire to tell what they looked like, so Frank let his eyes skate upwards to his jacket. The quilted pattern of the blue leather seemed to tunnel Frank’s vision directly to the red dye marks marring his luminescent neck. Frank’s mouth instinctively watered despite the dry desert air, and the cigarette smoke. He’d never wanted to lick something so bad.

 

   The boy shifted his weight over to one side, jutting out his hip, and pursing his lips together. Frank’s attention drifted lazily back towards his intense gaze. Rubbing the shaved side of his head, he pursed his lips together before walking around the fire. The sound of boots crunching down over flat desert sand echoed loudly in Frank’s ears before stopping suddenly. The last step sounded like it was about three feet away. Sneaking a glance out of the corner of his eye, Frank realized he was a lot closer.

 

   The boy wasn’t a boy at all. If Frank had to guess, he would say that the stranger was about his age. He was even more attractive up close, and without the fire’s waving heat distorting his face. His hair writhed and licked at his porcelain throat with the gentle breeze. How anyone could be that pale in the middle of a fucking desert was way beyond Frank.

 

   He tilted his head a bit as he sort of rocked back and forth. Frank drank in the sight of the scarlet dye decorating his neck. A dye job meant he was the leader of a caravan---but which one? Frank started to rattle off names in his head as the distinct sound of leather against sand ground in his ear. The man was inching closer to Frank, lips twitching into a grin.

 

   “Hey mister,”

 

   Frank continued to search his mind for the correct caravan. Could he be with the Air Junkies? No, he didn’t look like a hippy. Maybe the Sandswimmers? Possibly, though he looked more Analog Hog to Frank. Maybe he was with the Transistor Sisters--

 

   “HEY!”

  
   The man stepped away from Frank’s ear, hands still cupping his mouth. Startled out of his mental journey, Frank took two involuntary steps back. His right hand flew up to his chest as his mouth hung open in shock. Immediately recovering, he snapped it shut, and turned to face the man fully.

 

   “Yeah?”

 

 He rubbed his leather clad palms over the dirty white denim covering his thighs before smacking them together. He gazed at Frank from under the thick darkness of his eyelashes and let his lips slide into a grin. It stretched up the right side of his face, hypnotizing Frank as the muscles rippled and tightened around his eyes. Frank felt the very tip of his tongue poke between his lips.

 

   “Can I get a cigarette?”

 

   Frank concentrated very hard on the way he said the ‘R’ in “Cigarette”. He didn’t think he’d ever hear someone say the word with that much sex in it again. He committed it to memory and patted down the pockets of his vest again.

 

   “Uh, yeah, hold on.”

 

   Finally, producing the battered and crumpled pack once more, Frank shook out another cigarette.  He held the cigarette out and tried not to suck in his breath as the man’s fingers fluttered over his own. He brought it up to his lips and tucked it into the right corner.  Bringing out a crumpled pack of matches, he pursed his lips together around the cigarette. Hunching down a bit, cupping his hand around the flame, he mumbled a low “Thanks.”

 

   Before Frank could stop himself, he shoved his hand out toward the strange man.

 

   “I’m Frank.”

 

   He wished for once, that a Draculoid would show up and blast a hole straight through his head. The man lowered his match slowly, removing his cigarette and tucking it securely behind his ear. Frank tried not to think about how the paper tube dragged along his lips. The man licked his lips and took hold of Frank’s hand.

 

   “Party Poison.”

 

   Frank felt the wheels in his head creaking to life at the introduction. He quirked an eyebrow and couldn’t help the smirk that formed on his lips as he took it all in. It made sense; the name, the dye-job, the bandannas.

 

   “Holy fuck, you’re a Killj-”

 

   His left hand shot out and clapped over Frank’s mouth. The leather was warm, smoky and gritty against  his lips. He darted out his wicked and mischievous tongue against the palm over his mouth. It tasted like sand, finger grease, and pure anarchy. It tasted like flat, sun cracked asphalt and gasoline. It tasted like freedom.    

 

   Cautiously, Frank rested his fingertips against the black bandanna tied around the pale wrist in front of him. Asking permission with his eyes, Frank was met with a distant and half-lidded consent. Pushing back the fabric and pulling the leather clad palm from his mouth, Frank turned it upwards to examine it. A black bar code stared back up at him.

  
   “8975439202-30”

 

   Frank darted his gaze up to Party Poison’s. He was met with pools of liquid hot lust. The flames of the bonfire quietly licked his irises. Frank swallowed hard against the intensity of the stare.

 

   “Tell me what it means, Frank.”

 

   Frank knew what it meant. It meant that Big Brother knew all about him. It’s probably one of the reasons that he was on the run. In a world where humans are slaves, who breed more slaves, who power the mega corporations of the robotic empire; this code would get you killed. If you were lucky enough. It meant he was from Battery City, and that he could never go back. It meant running away forever. It meant fighting tooth and nail for freedom. Frank pulled the bar code closer and dragged his tongue across it. Party’s eyes fluttered shut.

 

   “It’s just fancy talk for homosexual.”

 

   Frank could hear Party’s breath shudder through his nostrils. His jaw was drawn tight, eyes screwed shut. Frank couldn’t tell if he was afraid or getting all polka dottie on him. He vied for the latter and sunk his teeth into the delicate flesh of his wrist. He heard a squeak of what he’d assumed was pleasure, before whispering around the skin in his mouth.

 

   “I’ve got one too, but you’ll never find it.”

 

   Frank smirked into the battered wrist. Lots of tattoos for lots of sins. Each one was deliciously painful and filthy dirty. Just like the man wearing them. Party puffed out a breathy sigh and pushed his hand past Frank’s mouth to lace through his hair. Rubbing gently with his fingertips, and then twisting the dark locks in a white knuckled grip, he yanked Frank’s mouth over to his own. They met in an explosion of semi-moist lips and sun-bleached teeth.

 

   Frank could feel the puffs of air blowing across his cheek as Party’s tongue swirled and licked at the inside of his mouth. Biting down on Party’s lip, Frank gasped into the cavern between them. He could feel Party’s breath stammer and shudder in the night air. Suddenly, Frank’s skin seemed too small for him. His shoulders tensed as he tried to stretch himself out against Party. He wound his way up the back of Party’s neck, feeling the sweat begin to form at the nape. Pushing his fingers through the matted flames of Party’s hair, Frank picked up on the distant cat-calls of the other members of the caravan. Pushing his hips against Party’s, locking eyes at the same time, he smirked and broke off the kiss. Electric pulses carried through his blood stream, saturating his brain with wet, hot, lust.

 

   “Is there somewhere else we could go?” he breathed.

 

   Party looked around him, almost as if he forgot where he was. He scratched the shaved side of his head, finally noticing the whistles from the rest of the camp.

 

   “Are you sure?”

 

   Party dropped his hand from Frank’s face down to his hip. Frank followed it with his eyes. He kept his gaze downwards as he thought about what was to come. Despite his raging hard-on, he was dealing with a potential murderer, definite smuggler, outlaw leader, whose very presence encouraged revolution to the masses.

 

   Frank was in love.

 

   “We may not live to see tomorrow,” Frank said around the grin forming on his lips. He stroked down Party’s forearm and pried his hand off his hip. Interlocking their fingers together, he kissed the leather clad knuckles. His breath was short and shallow when it puffed out against the skin of their hands.

 

    Party visibly swallowed, his jaw shifting back and forth for a second or two.

 

   “I’ve got a Trans Am.”

 

   Frank’s face broke out into a full smile as he darted his eyes back up to meet Party’s. His eyes promised fun, mischief, and red-hot debauchery before spinning on his heel and leading them in the opposite direction. He stalked out toward the car in the horizon, practically dragging Frank along in his haste.

 

   Giggling and tripping over his own shoes as Party dragged him across the desert sands, Frank reveled in how good it felt to laugh again. Laughter quickly turned into hunger as the car came within reach. An upside down flag and a chipped white paint job were the only things covering the outside, while red leather coated the inside. The moonlight shown down from above, bathing the interior with it’s blue tint. Frank pulled back on Party’s hand and spun him around. Gripping him by the waist, Frank hoisted Party up and sat him on the hood of the car. A hand shot out and twined itself in Frank’s hair, as he let himself be dragged down into a searing kiss.

 

   A soft thud echoed in the silence as Party’s ass dented the hood. He was perched up on top of it, feet planted on the hood, knees spread apart inviting Frank in. Their tongues moved wetly despite the dry desert air, each mouth craving the taste of the other. Noses bumped and teeth caught on delicate flesh as Frank pushed Party down onto the hood. Spread across the car, his hair was a tangled mess of smoke and fire as the white highlighted his growing roots.

 

   Frank fisted Party’s hair, causing him to mewl around the tongue already invading his mouth. Delving in and plundering every crevice of his mouth, Frank tried to map out a way down the flat sweaty planes of Party’s chest. He thought he found a pleasure spot when he felt Party suck in his breath and tense up. Pushing himself up with his hands, he smiled down at Party.

 

   Who was not smiling.

 

   A hiss sounded somewhere behind Frank, and he felt his eyes bug out. His mind flashed back to Bob’s truck. Even further inside to the locked toolbox in the truck bed where his laser gun lay. Frank swallowed down hard and focused on Party’s face. His eyes were hard, his brow furrowed in rage, mouth a thin line slashed across his face. He could feel him suck in a sharp breath before everything started to move.

 

   Clapping a hand around the back of Frank’s neck, Party pushed his head down to meet with his chest. His head thudded against the cavity, Party’s heartbeat pounding against his ear. He held on as Party sat straight up and unbuckled his thigh holster. The distant hissing noise seemed like it was right in Frank’s ear, and it sounded like there was more than one. Draculoids never traveled alone. Frank gripped the quilted leather covering Party’s chest as he burrowed his nose against it. There was a helpless feeling screaming at the back of Frank’s mind; his gun was locked in Bob’s truck and there was nothing he could do but hold on.

 

   Party’s arm jolted from the recoil against the side of Frank’s head. He could hear the frightened heartbeat under his ear racing to pump necessary oxygen to adrenaline filled muscles. The wet sound of brains against dry desert ground wormed it’s way into Frank’s memory banks. He heard two more shots go off before Party twisted to the right. Frank felt the slick, disgusting heat of brain matter splat and slide down his neck. Party’s legs were still clamped around Frank, his hand holding his head to his chest. The black goo dripped from Frank’s neck onto Party’s chest. Frank forced his eyes open, even though the only thing to see was the slight movements rippling under Party’s jacket. He just knew he had to keep his head out of the way or risk getting it blown off.

 

   Two more shots zapped out, accompanied by the thudding of lifeless bodies. Party laid back down on the hood, tipping his chin upwards and looking behind him. Frank peeked up from his position. A long, pale, neck seemed to glow in the bright moonlight. The chipped,  red paint on the sides shown in stark contrast, the blue light making them look purple. The hand against Frank’s neck released and gripped the laser gun. Three shots blazed into the night. Two were from Party, dead shots in between the eyes of the last draculoids. One zipped by Frank’s temple. The heat from the shot met with his sweat and fizzed hotly in his ear. Frank sucked in sharply. Eyebrows raised in a dazed sort of confusion, he looked back down at the man under him. Party sat up, effectively pushing Frank off of him and slid down off the hood.

 

   A sideways grin crept up the right side of Party’s face. He wasn’t bothered at all about what just happened. In fact, he looked fresh faced and ready for more. Frank gaped at the look of utter satisfaction on Party’s face. He jerked his chin in the direction of his car whilst sliding the energy panel back, cocking the gun.

 

   “It’s time to scram toots.”

 

   Frank could hear more growling and hissing in the distance. He turned away from Party to scan the horizon. Silver clouds of dust billowed up from the desert as shiny latex suits glimmered in the moonlight. BL/ind was here. Frank’s thoughts turned immediately to the caravan.

 

   “We’ve got to tell the others,” he started, facing back to where Party stood with his hand on his hip. His jaw was set, his eyes glazed over with a look Frank had never seen before.

 

   “Get in the car Frank.”

 

   Frank started to panic. Usually they never got this close to catching them. Bob always got them the hell out of there before the zones got too hot. It was red fucking hot right now.

 

   “What about the caravan? I’ve got to tell Bob--”

 

   Party pushed his arm against Frank’s neck, shoving the muzzle of his laser gun in his face.

  
Frank widened his eyes at the obvious threat both in front of his face, and the hissing sounds in his ears. Distantly, he could hear the chopping of a helicopter in pursuit. Frank looked down the barrel of the gun into Party’s eyes. They were hard and desperate. Frank gritted his teeth.

 

   “Get in the fucking car Frank.”

 

   Frank closed his eyes and turned sharply to his right. Finding the door handle, he ripped it open and rushed inside. Everything seemed to pick up speed again as he looked out the window at the horizon. The helicopters were quickly approaching, and he noticed that the fire at the center of the camp was extinguished. Clouds of dust swirled up from the caravan, giving plenty of cover to escape. Frank followed Party’s form with his eyes as he bumped and slid across the hood of the car. Ripping his own door open and shoving in the key, he slammed the car into first gear just as flood light turned on behind them.

 

   “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Get down!”

 

   The car roared to life and took off like a bat out of hell across the desert. Frank stared down at Party’s foot as it floored the accelerator. Laser light burst around them as the armored motorcycle brigade descended on them. Shifting into fifth gear, Party unbuckled his thigh holster again and held his gun out the window. One shot blew the brains out of the cyclist next to him, knocking down the other three behind him. Party twisted his head over to where Frank had his own held between his hands under the dashboard.

 

   “Hey!”

 

   Frank peeked up from under his hands. Party’s hair was flying around in the wind. He looked like some kind of crazy angel with his hair all fucked up like that. Eyebrows furrowed in that same determined stare from before, sly smile erupting over his lips, he looked like just like revolution.

 

   “Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

 

   Frank flashed back to the day Bob and him crawled out of the bomb shelter. Broken green glass littered the desert floor where L.A. once stood. Trinitite made the city glimmer in the sun despite the radioactive quality of the stuff. Scavenging for food and supplies,  they’d found a few discarded weapons in abandoned shops. Laser guns, carbon knives, flash grenades; whatever they could handle with ease they kept. Everything else was just a hindrance. Frank liked to use bombs the most, but using a gun was simple and necessary. They had practiced on empty bottles and dead bodies . Eventually, they were shooting at the real thing. Frank let a jaded grin slide up his face.

 

   “Yeah, I can use a gun.”

 

   Party pointed to the dashboard with his chin. “Go in the glove box and get the gun in there.”

 

   More cyclists could be heard outside of the car. Frank didn’t look as he yanked open the glove box. An assortment of objects spilled onto his lap; A party hat, bouncy balls, a rubber moustache, condoms, confetti, handcuffs, a kaleidoscope, a ragged looking teddy bear, a telescope, and about ten bags of pop rocks.

 

  “What the fuck?”

 

   Despite the sound of motors roaring through the windows, Frank gave himself a second to be surprised. He looked over at Party who was blushing so deep, his hair matched his face. His wide eyes looked so terribly out of place against the laser blasts firing next to him.

 

   “I practically live in here. Dig around a bit, you’ll find it.”

 

   Frank shoved his hand into the miscellaneous objects in his lap. It looked like a stripper’s birthday party in his crotch. Feeling something cool and metal against his thigh, he reached through the mess and gripped the hand gun. It felt smaller than Party’s; maybe the size of  a tin can. Frank brought it closer to his face for inspection. It was hot pink with a lime green lightning bolt down the side. The side of it read ‘For Fuck‘s Sake!’ in bubble letters. Frank screwed up his face at the ludicrous nature of his situation.  Whatever, as long as the fucking thing worked.

 

   Cocking the slider backwards he glanced into the side view mirror. Seven more bikes rode in a straight line behind the Trans Am. Four broke off toward the Party’s side, and three to Frank’s. Their motorcycles ripped over the noise of Party’s engine as they saddled up to Frank’s side. Frank fired five shots. Three missed, but two hit the first biker, knocking down the other two cyclists. Frank’s face broke out into a grin as he felt the adrenaline take over his system. Looking back over at Party’s he smiled his victory. His face dropped as he looked down the barrel of another gun.

 

   Frank’s eyebrows shot up his face as he ducked down in his seat. The plastic contents of his lap crinkled and crunched as he slid down the leather seat. A colorful stream of color passed by his face, just scraping his cheek. It was searingly hot as it whizzed by him, leaving a burn trail under his ear. He could smell burnt hair and fried skin. The gooey sensation of blood trickling down his neck sent an involuntary shudder down his spine. Nothing spells ‘close call’ like your own blood on your favorite shirt. He heard Party fire off another round of shots before dropping down into fourth gear and red lining his way across the desert. The sounds of the motor brigade faded into the inky desert night.

 

   The moon crept back out from behind the dust clouds as the sand settled down on the horizon. Party stared hard into the rearview mirror before finally letting out a sigh of relief. He turned out his headlights so they could ride in stealth. The stars hung hazy and swollen as they approached what looked like zone one. Frank squinted his eyes in confusion.

 

   “Wait a minute, we’re going to Zone One?”

 

    Party pressed his mouth into a flat thin line again, puff of air through his nose.

 

   “As in, Battery City?”

 

   Party looked over to where Frank sat with his lap covered in the contents of his glove box, wearing the silliest expression of confusion he’d ever seen. He could feel the adrenaline high from the gun fight and the sexual frustration of not having someone like Frank around more often. It was giving him a domino kind of feeling.

 

   “Yeah, as in Battery City,” he mimicked Frank’s squeak of surprise. “You can’t find a better place to hide than right under their noses. We’re out in the boonies though. The wastelands around the city. It’s relatively free of contamination.”

 

   Frank quirked an eyebrow at being made fun of, directing the subject away from himself.  He squinted out the windshield instead, noticing the heavy fingers of Battery City stretching unevenly into the night sky. Battery City was still belching toxins into the air, supplying Zones Three and Four with another week of acid rain.

 

   “Ahhh, Battery City,” Party chirped with a plastic grin before dropping down into a blank stare. “Ripped my heart clear out of my chest.” Frank settled his eyes on the dim purple lights glowing fuzzily through the smog. The leather of Party’s gloves squeaked against the steering wheel as he gripped it tighter.

 

   “I was a Wirehead before the bombs dropped.” Frank couldn’t help but snap his head to his left. Here was a man equal parts rebel and hero. A man who Frank couldn’t believe let his guard down for a single second.

 

   “It started with my grandma. She was sick, so the government made her as comfortable as she could until it was time. We were grateful, happy that something could ease her pain.” He locked his jaw tight and gritted through his clenched teeth, “We were fucking idiots. She plugged in and they turned her up almost all the way. She died the following week.”

 

   Frank worried his lip ring, rotating it around against the sand embedded in it. It made a crunching sound. He concentrated on the sensation to keep him from opening his big mouth.

 

   “I plugged in two days after the funeral. It was like swallowing a live wire. It was like giving a lap dance to the government. It was fucking the internet. It was having an orgasm with the entire population of Battery City. I was writhing and twitching and coming in my pants for a week straight. My brother found me filthy, dehydrated, and almost dead. I couldn’t give it up. It was absolutely, mind-blowingly, delicious.”

 

    Party licked his lips at the memory, trying to grasp a small tidbit of what it felt like to have wave after wave of electricity licking down his spine. Frank watched his the tip of his tongue dip lazily into the corner of his mouth, and tried very hard not to squirm against the leather seats.

 

   “What made you stop?”

 

   Party’s lust filled gaze dropped back down into a solemn one. Instantly, Frank regretted asking that question.

 

   “The bombs dropped and killed my whole family while I was safe and plugged into the fucking wall. My brother survived. He found me babbling and convulsing on the floor. Lost in lust, it took me a month to gain interest in anything after being disconnected. He gave me my first analog radio and drove us into the desert. We met Dr. Deathdefy. He took the port for the plug out and sewed up the hole. It’s still rooted in my nervous system, but at least I look normal now. The best thing he gave me was a new addiction that I can‘t get enough of.”

 

   Frank released his lip ring from his teeth, raising an eyebrow expectantly. Party let his lopsided smile finally return to his face.

 

   “Freedom.”

 

   Frank let his eyes drift back out over the desert. A small flat rectangle rose out of the horizon, flanked by the Joshua trees Zone One is famous for.

 

   “What’s that?”

 

   Party chuckled lightly to himself as he dropped the car down into second gear.

 

   “Home.”

 

   Home was an abandoned diner Frank observed as Party pulled up to the side of the building between two rusted out cars. Frank looked down at his lap, still covered in Party’s personal affects.

 

   “Umm?”

 

   Party reached behind his seat, bringing out a dirty canvas bag. He roughly shoved the contents of Frank’s lap inside, and reached over to get further into the glove box. Frank sucked in his breath as Party twisted around in his lap. He pressed his lips into a frown, trying to keep himself as far from his current position as possible. It’s hard when there’s flaming red hair tickling your chin and a beautiful boy digging around in his glove box.

 

   “Got it!”

 

   Party sat up quickly, Frank’s breath gushing out from holding it in.

 

   “What?”

 

   Party’s eyes sparkled as a bar of light reflected off his rearview mirror.

 

   “Colored pencils! Real fucking colored pencils!”

 

   Party giggled excitedly, and after all they’d just been through, Frank let himself relax into a soft laugh.

 

   “I went all the way out there looking to trade for these things! Finally, I found a guy who had them on him. Some filthy dirty Air Junkie. I traded an old issue of ‘Hustler’ man, real vintage shit. Mikey is going to kill me, but he’ll understand. Colored pencils, man!”

 

   Frank giggled himself at the sheer absurdity of it all. Party had almost killed them for art supplies. There were about thirty pencils inside the packet, but in a world where they aren’t even manufactured anymore, it’s a treasure trove. Frank slowed down his laughter enough to get his bearings.

 

   “Mikey? Who’s that?”

 

   Party stopped laughing immediately. His eyes grew a little large, before replacing his facial expression with a stoic one.

 

   “Oh? I didn’t mean him, I meant Kobra.”

 

   Frank turned in his seat to fully face Party. His lip quivered a bit in the moonlight, but kept his stoic face on. Frank had never heard so much bullshit in his whole life. It was dark inside the car except for the blue bar falling across Party’s darting eyes. He was lying; Frank could practically smell it in the air. There was no such person as Kobra. Either that or they were the same person. Which meant that Party wasn’t who he said he was.

 

   “There’s no way your name is actually Party Poison.”

 

   This guy might have just saved his life, but Frank was never one for bullshit.

 

   “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?“ he spat. “You had no problem with that when you were all glossed out on the hood of my car. Did my name mean anything then? Would it made a difference as long as I gave you something to scream when you came?” He turned back around in his seat, glaring out the window. The leather in his jacket squeaked against the seat as he drew his knees up.

 

   Frank was taken aback by the sudden outburst from the man next to him. He must’ve hit a raw nerve or something. An identity crisis?  A super-hero complex? Frank wasn’t sure, and now he’s just pissed off his only ride out of Zone One. He reached out a tentative hand to scratch his fingers over the pill symbol on Party’s jacket.

 

   “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

 

   Party shrunk under his touch a fraction before unfolding his limbs from himself.

 

   “No, I’m sorry. I’m just wound up is all. Knowing a Killjoy is like a death sentence. I was trying to protect you Frank. What the hell else have I been doing for the last two hours?”

 

   Frank nodded, moving his hand down to scratch at Party’s thigh as he faced the steering wheel again.

 

   “Kid Kobra is my little brother; another Killjoy. I gave him that name after his favorite killing technique. Do you see what kind of people we are Frank? We are rebels, joyriders, and murderers. We are Big Brother’s worst nightmare, and one day we’re all going to get killed.”

 

   “We’ll all be dead one day anyway,” Frank felt the words tumble from his lips before they even formed properly in his head.

 

   Party snapped his head to the right, drinking in the sight of Frank. His eyes were focused, brow furrowed, and he could feel the hum of determination in his fingertips as he stroked them against his thigh. He looked away again into the darkness of the night.

 

   “You’re okay with all that?”

 

   Frank pulled his lips up it a smile. As sun burnt and tight as it felt, he couldn’t help himself.

 

   “I’m more than okay. In fact, that’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

 

   “I think the sun has fried all your brain cells.”

 

   “I think it did that a long time ago.”

 

   “We could be dead before you even wake up tomorrow morning.”

 

   “Then you’d better make tonight count.”

 

   Party looked back at Frank again. It was a look of apprehension, and appraisal. Frank had never felt so naked in his whole life. It felt like the entire weight of his character was being measured out in the long strokes of Party’s eyes.

 

   “My name is Gerard.”

 

   ‘Gerard, Gerard, Gerard,’ Frank’s mind ground up the name and spread it around in his head before it disintegrated and reformed on his lips.

 

   “Gerard, nice to meet you.”

 

   Gerard smiled a toothy and open smile. Frank could feel the electricity rolling off of him. The temperature inside the car suddenly went up and Frank could feel sweat beading on the back of his neck. Gerard was radiating heat and lust in in heavy waves. Frank wasn’t sure about what he should be doing at this point and opted to press his back against the passenger door.

 

   Gerard ripped off his seatbelt, and practically lunged into Frank’s lap. A crinkling noise sounded as his knees crunched down on something on the leather seat. His mouth has quick and hot as I collided with Frank’s. Teeth clicking against one another’s, Gerard swirled his tongue along the roof of Frank’s mouth. Gerard was in an awkward position, craning his head down a bit to avoid the cloth fabric of his car roof. His hair was making little crackling sounds as the static clung to it.

 

   Frank rolled his hips up into Gerard’s earning a low groan from above. He snaked his hand back through the red strands of Gerard’s hair. Twisting and tugging at the ends made his breath suck in sharply and grind harder into the bulge in Frank’s jeans. Wet mouths and small friction isn’t what Frank was looking for though, even if it was pleasurable. There was too little space and he could feel his claustrophobia rear it’s stupid fucking head.  He broke the kiss off with a smacking sound. Gerard sat back on his lap and licked his lips. Suddenly, Frank felt very warm.

 

   “Do you think we could go inside? There isn’t very much I can do here.”

 

   Gerard considered his request, noting that the Trans Am was kind of small, and so far he was the only one doing any real work.

 

   “Yeah, hurry up.”

 

   Gerard leaned over Frank, kissing him quickly while grabbing his canvas bag. He opened the door and used the roof as to pull himself off of Frank. Frank sighed, annoyed at the loss of contact.

 

   “C’mon you slow mother fucker! It‘s already tomorrow in Australia!”

 

   Frank snapped to attention, gripping the door frame as he peeled himself from the leather seat. A crinkle noise sounded as he knocked something to the ground. He shut the door and turned to pick it up. A black and neon pink pack shown back at him in the moonlight.

 

 “Pop Rocks: Watermelon Flavored ” was printed across the front in worn out bubble lettering. Frank grinned, shoving it into his back pocket. He bet that Gerard would be pretty surprised to see his own candy being used against him in such a way. He hurried to follow the voice calling from the entrance to the diner.

 

   The metal handle on the glass door was surprisingly cool in the desert night air as Frank yanked it open after Gerard. He was a tri-colored smear against the chalk white interior of the diner. Dirty, cracked walls surrounded them on four sides, sandblasted and worn from the sun. The windows were blasted out on three sides. The fluorescent lights hummed a sweet welcome, flickering to life once again. Gerard turned around and smiled.

 

   “We’re home!”

 

   The word ‘home’ echoed through Frank’s head. Home was New Jersey, sunken and alone at the bottom of the ocean. Home was bombed, burned, and sent to a watery grave. This was Gerard’s home---not his. He was a fool to believe otherwise. He turned his eyes downward to the scuffed up linoleum tiles.

 

   Gerard’s smile faded at the edges a bit, softening the manic glee in the air that encapsulated them since the bonfire. He jammed his hands in his pockets and covered the space between them in two fluid movements, standing toe to toe with Frank. Frank forced himself to look back up, into Gerard’s eyes. His skin prickled with the sudden invasion of his personal space. Soft eyelashes swept upward to undyed eyebrows. Frank felt his own eyes widen at the shimmering color of them. The bonfire earlier had licked and darkened them, making it nearly impossible to decipher their shade. Frank had to suck his entire bottom lip in to keep it from quivering.

 

   In Gerard’s eyes Frank saw the clear hazel of the Atlantic ocean. His eyes were shore lines and seagulls. They were salt air and polluted skies. They were November days where it looked like morning all the time. He saw half empty tea cups and ashtrays full of cigarette butts. Gerard blinked and he saw his daughters, his mother, his wife, his father. There were leaves changing color before drifting down to fresh black asphalt. He saw his bedroom in his mother’s house, the window next to his bed half open to the oncoming Autumn.

 

   In the rolling moss green and caffeinated brown, Frank found something he’d been searching for all these years.

 

   As Frank drew Gerard’s lips down to meet his, he swore he smelled pumpkins and nicotine on Gerard’s skin. He could taste punk rock on Gerard’s breath. Frank sucked it in as Gerard released a shuddering sigh, sealing their lips together.

 

   There was a new kind of electricity that surged between them. Wet velvet curled and slid against the ridges of Frank’s mouth and teeth. Gerard tasted like downed power lines and watermelon Halloween candy. He smelled of damp basements despite years of baking in the sun. Frank clawed his dull fingernails over Gerard’s neck, feeling chipping paint and Drac brains scraping under his nails. He ran his thumbs over Gerard’s eyebrows before gently fisting the open collar of his leather jacket.

  
   “I’m home,” Frank mouthed against Gerard’s lips.

 

   He peeked out from under his eyelashes shyly. Suddenly the diner was huge and stark against the fiery red hair framing Gerard’s face. The situation felt simultaneously heavier and lighter than it had been back at the camp. This wasn’t flirting anymore--this was something Frank hadn’t seen or tasted since the bombs fell. Honestly, it left Frank feeling a little lost and overwhelmed as the lights buzzed and blinked in sympathy above him. His breath shuddered out through his nose, lips trembling against Gerard’s.

 

   Gerard combed his fingers through Frank’s hair and traced his way down to his shoulders. Kneading and flexing the tight muscles under the vest, he curved his fingers through the blades. It felt like he was being sculpted into something new. Gerard was sculpting him into the man he needed to be. A man who breathed freedom and cut down those who dare stand in his way. He was being molded into revolution and anarchy. He was being christened with a new name, becoming part of something he could call his own. He was being given a place to call home.

 

   He was a Killjoy.

 

   Gerard grasped the back of his vest in one hand and hooked his finger under Frank’s chin with the other.

 

   “Would you die for what you believe in?” He whispered heatedly against Frank’s lips.

 

   “Would you die for me?”

 

   Frank didn’t think. He didn’t have to. His heart was fluttering against his ribs like a frightened bird. It was a buzz saw. It was a china doll. It was the heart of a newborn.

 

   “Yes.”

 

   Gerard tightened his grasp on the back of Frank’s vest and tugged. Not too hard, but not gently he pulled the black leather down and over Frank’s shoulders, watching as the article slid to the floor. He shrugged his own jacket off and tossed it onto one on the tables near the window. The leather thumped loudly against the vinyl seating. Creamy white shoulders adorned with a freckles here and there swam through Frank’s vision. Gerard was a blank canvas of skin stretched over bone. He ripped the black bandanna from his wrist with his teeth. The gloves were unbuckled and shucked to the linoleum. His lips were red and ripe as he cupped Frank’s face in his smooth hands. Hands that kill, hands that create.

 

   Frank leaned into the delicate touch of Gerard’s fingers as they fluttered back to the knot around his throat. The star-spangled bandanna joined the growing heap of clothing on the ground. Gerard licked a hot, slow line up the side of his scorpion tattoo, nipping at the bottom edge of his jaw. He licked around at the burn mark under Frank’s ear and made little worried noises. Frank shuddered involuntarily at the hot puffs of air against the shell of his ear.

 

   “That looks kind of bad.”

 

   Frank didn’t care. He just wanted the wet muscle back on his skin again. Shifting his rib cage slightly into the warmth of Gerard’s body, he coaxed the tongue into soothing his wound. He sighed into the touch as the sound of taste buds grinding into his skin filled his ears. Gerard pulled his body toward one of the tables on the right, leaning up against the edge of it. Colliding gently with the man in front of him, Frank gazed up from under his heavy lashes at his face. The lights above him flickered and popped for a few strobing seconds before finally shorting out. Frank felt the deep chuckle echo through Gerard’s chest.

 

   “I also went out there for gas. Mikey’s gonna kill me.”

 

   Frank breathed a small chuckle of his own into the air hanging between them. The moon was bright behind Gerard’s head now that the light pollution was gone. It shown through the red hair spiked up in random places and cast spindly shadows across Frank’s face. He watched Gerard’s eyes dilate in the darkness. Something heavy was creeping into Frank’s stomach; something predatory in it‘s need to claim Gerard for his own. He made a miniscule roll of his hips; Barely there, but delicious all the same. Gerard’s eyebrows shot up, feeling Frank’s arousal echoing his own.  Noticing Gerard’s reaction, he did it again, a little harder. He could feel the bulge in Gerard’s jeans, but the thick material prevented any further sensation.

 

   Pinning Gerard to the table with his hips, he ran his hands down Gerard’s milky shoulders. They seemed to glow in the moon’s blue light, inviting Frank closer. Stroking back up the soft flesh of Gerard’s arms, his palms cupping  his shoulders. Darting a tongue out to sweep over the rounded end of his collarbone, Frank lavished in the salty flavor he found there. Dragging his tongue over to where the shoulder ended he bit down perhaps a little harder than he meant to. It was the first date after all. Frank felt his lips curve into his usual mischievous grin against Gerard’s skin. Running his knuckles over the xylophone of Gerard’s ribs, he filed away every one of Gerard’s shuddering breaths.

 

   He danced his fingers down the front of Gerard’s chest before hooking them in the hem of his black t-shirt. Raising his eyes in a questioning glance, Gerard pursed his lips and nodded before lifting his arms over his head. Frank peeled the sweat dampened shirt inside out. The cotton landed somewhere behind him, a whisper against linoleum. The muscle underneath was neither the rigid firmness he’d found commonly in other people of the desert, nor the delicate soft flesh he’d fallen in love with back in New Jersey. It was something new, something in-between, something belonging only to Gerard. Frank’s knees quivered slightly in excitement. Ducking his head down and forward, he latched onto creamy expanse in front of him.

 

   Gerard’s hands softly pet away the stringy mess of hair from Frank’s face and slid down Frank’s neck. Urging him forward, Gerard traced the curve of Frank’s shoulder blades under his shirt. Frank’s mouth was hot and wet as it left little suction patterns all over the pale, unmarked landscape of his chest. The spot right in the V shape of his collarbones attracted Frank the most; worrying it, bruising it, branding it as a place only for him. His fingers dug into the flesh in between his ribs slightly as he kneaded and rolled the skin there. Rolling his hips back into Frank, Gerard clawed his fingers down his back. Clenching and stretching around in the hem of his shirt, Gerard pulled up, forcing Frank to break skin contact. Frank’s arms wormed around and pulled through the holes. His hair was all messed up and insanely sexy as Gerard took in the vibrant color in front of him.

 

   Unlike the pure white canvas of his own chest, Frank’s was covered in art. The most dangerous thing to possess in the world was artistic freedom, and there it was presented in gorgeous Technicolor. Gerard’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth open, sucking in air. Vibrant, prismatic, illegal color rushed into his brain. His eyes drank in the shades of light and dark, each image on display under the pale blue light shining through the diner windows. Frank shuffled his feet a bit and hooked his finger in his belt. Gerard made an effort to clamp his mouth shut again, stretching one spindly hand out to Frank’s chest. It was almost black with all the hidden messages scrawled across the olive landscape.

 

   Dragging one hand down his chest, he pulled on the surface delicately. The dewy skin shifted and rolled over Frank’s ribcage. Gerard licked his chapped lips, processing the much sought after rebellion carved into Frank’s skin.

 

   It was real, the revolution he was fighting for was right here. It was shuddering and breathing in tiny puffs as Gerard assessed his specimen. Gerard fluttered his eyes shut in heated anticipation. He wrapped his arms around Frank’s abdomen and pulled him forward again, flush to his body. Kneading his muscles around the bottom edge of his shoulder blades, Gerard whispered hotly into Frank’s ear.

 

   “Freedom.”

 

   Frank sucked in a harsh breath at the sensation of Gerard grasping at his back. Screwing his eyes shut at the delicious feeling, he was surprised to feel his jeans being unbuttoned. Blinking them open again into the washed out light of the diner, He looked down to the floor. Gerard was grinning back up at him from his knees. Fingers deftly working the button fly, his breath flickered and licked at Frank’s stomach. It would have tickled Frank if he wasn’t so turned on.

 

   He sucked in his bottom lip, trying to control his swaying hips. Gerard just widened his smile as he pulled Frank free from the constraints of his jeans. His smile was dazzling, lips shimmering with moisture in the bluish light. He pursed his lips together and blew a soft warm breath across the tip. Frank tensed in the small of his back before relaxing against the tentative lap of Gerard’s tongue. Gerard licked wetly at the underside of Frank’s cock, relishing in the satiny feel of his head. The vein pulsed under Gerard’s writhing tongue, signaling Frank’s full attention. Gerard pulled back some, glancing up at Frank through thick, black lashes.

 

   “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he breathed against the wet, tacky skin of Frank’s erection. Frank dropped a hand down to the side of Gerard’s face, cupping his cheek and stroking it with his thumb. His skin was soft and delicate under the curtain of red hair. Frank rolled his ear lobe between his thumb and forefinger.

 

   “So are you,” he breathed into the still air of the diner. It was the closest he could get to a confession without giving everything away. There was a feeling sitting heavy in his chest that had nothing to do with his arousal.

 

   Gerard just smiled brightly again, and steadied his hold at the base of Frank’s cock. Thin lips rolled ever so slightly, as he leaned forward and swallowed Frank all the way down. Right out of the gate, Gerard inched down until his lips met with his hand. Frank could feel Gerard try to hold back a chuckle and steady his breath. Frank just stood frozen in the sensation. His senses were on overload, as Gerard’s throat fluttered and quivered around him.

 

   “Oh God,” his small whisper echoed in the still air. He could feel Gerard’s lips quirk in a repressed smile as he slid up and swirled back down. Frank brought up his middle knuckle to bite down on. It was getting very hard to not thrust into the shimmering heat of Gerard’s mouth. Warmth uncoiled in Frank’s stomach, as he tried to fight the tide suddenly sweeping through him. Gerard swirled his tongue over his head, and took to lapping at the underside. Gliding against the heart shaped indent, the wet muscle curled and ground against him. Frank’s hand scratched absent-mindedly at the shaved half of Gerard’s head, twisting the longer strands. His fingers brushed against a small flat square at the crown of Gerard’s head. A loud moan escaped him, muffled and absorbed by Frank’s cock.

 

   “Uhhffffffmmmm.”

 

   “Uhhhhh,” Frank felt his knees quake as sweat pooled in the backs of them. “Wha-what was that?”

 

   Gerard pulled back again, mouth red and wet as he caught his breath. His lips kept a small ‘O’ shape as he sucked air in. He tilted his head up and scratched at the tops of Frank’s thighs.

 

   “That,” he said, “That was my plate.”

 

   Frank let his gasping mouth close a bit in confusion. Gerard picked up on it immediately, using one hand to gesticulate as he explained.

 

   “My plate covers the port into my system. The current is gone, but it still feels good as hell when it’s touched.” He laced one of his hands through Frank’s as he slowly guided their fingers to the back of his head. The plate was so small, it could have been the size of a dime, back when money was still a currency. Gently, he flexed his middle finger against the barely there plate set at the base of his neck.

 

   “Ughhhh. Huhhhnnn.” Gerard mewled and writhed around on the floor under Frank’s hand. He laughed a little at his own reaction, before making Frank stroke it again.

 

   “Huuhn. God, it’s like having sex inside of your head. Guhhhh.”

 

   Frank, forgetting his own arousal, turned all of his attention to Gerard. This new thing, this plate, had Frank more than a little fascinated. He wondered what it felt like, to have someone stroking you from the inside of your brain. Judging from Gerard’s reaction, it was insanely delicious, and he was only scratching the surface. Now he knew why being a Wirehead was so dangerous. Feeling pleasure inside and out; pulsing in an electrical current, even as bombs destroyed the world around you. Frank knew it was a little wrong, to be stroking a plate covering a former addiction, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t made of electricity, and he wasn’t the government. And Gerard was a writhing mess on the checkered diner floor.

 

   “C’mere,” Frank grasped Gerard’s hands to pull him to his feet. Still out of his pants, Frank winced at the rough jean fabric covering Gerard’s thighs. Trapping him against the table, Frank pressed Gerard flush against himself. Supporting Gerard underneath of his arms, Frank used his other hand to stroke at the back of Gerard’s head. He let his knuckles bump along the plate, forcing little “ha” noises from Gerard’s lips as little shockwaves rocked his body into Frank’s. He kept stroking the back of Gerard’s neck like that, holding on tight as Gerard writhed between him and the table. Crushing their lips together, Frank could taste the delicate mewls and whimpers quivering in Gerard’s throat. Gerard was impossibly hard through the thick layers of denim, probably leaking already just from this.

  
Frank shifted his weight against Gerard’s hardness, when he hear a faint crinkle. A slow smile crept up his face. Gerard was so pre-occupied with what Frank was doing to his plate, that he didn’t hear it. Frank dropped his smile and bit gently at Gerard’s kiss-swollen lip.

 

   “Turn around,” he whispered hotly against Gerard’s ear, bumping his knuckles over the plate one more time before stepping back. Gerard rolled his eyes into the back of his head, and let out a shuddering sigh. His skin twitched and quivered in the moonlight, before coming back to himself. His eyes were liquid pools of heat, as he settled a half-lidded gaze on Frank. Right now he could come just from the look on Frank’s face. Hungry, playful, and something else Gerard couldn’t place. Something dangerous; Something Gerard hadn’t seen for a long time. Gerard stood up from against the table and turned around.

 

   The desert landscape outside of the window was awash with the moonlight pouring down from the sky. Gerard sucked his lip in between his teeth in anticipation, feeling Frank’s arms snake around his torso, pulling him back against him. He could feel Frank’s hardness up against his ass. The hands splayed against the insides of his ribs unfolded and traveled down to the button fly of his jeans. He watched as Frank’s tattooed hands worked blindly, expertly unbuttoning and zipping the fly down.

 

   Pushing the rough denim down over his thighs, Frank stroked the milky skin with his thumbs on the way down. The jeans made a tingle sound from the floor where Gerard’s belt buckle scrapped  linoleum tile. The sound receded as Gerard kicked them across the diner. Frank scratched and tickled his way back up Gerard’s thighs, teasing and pressing on the thick muscles there. The sharp jut of his hips stood out in the moonlight, blue hues dying his skin. Frank rolled the skin over his stomach; firm, but soft at the same time. It was something new and delicious to Frank.

  
    
   He dipped his fingers into the hollow of Gerard’s sternum. The heartbeat under walls of bone and muscle pounded erratically. He could feel Gerard trying to control his breathing as it shuddered out through his nose. Pressing fingers up over Gerard’s throat, he scratched and chipped the paint job on his neck. Flecks of red paint bent and stuck under his nails. His fingers gently cradled Gerard’s jaw as he massaged his thumbs against the muscle surrounding Gerard’s spine. Crackling and kneading the stiff tissue there, Gerard hummed in appreciation. Breathing out quiet and deep, he hovered closer to the back of Gerard’s neck. Firm and slow, he licked against the plate at the base of Gerard’s neck.

 

   “Nuh, uh god, Frank.”

 

   Frank smiled against the plate and sucked a quick kiss to it. He could feel Gerard shiver with his entire body. His neck tasted like sweat and electricity. Dust, motor oil, and laser plasma flooded his senses. This was the smell of freedom writhing under him.

 

   Grasping Gerard’s hands from behind, he wove their fingers together, his on top. Slowly licking a trail down Gerard’s spine, he pressed his hips forward, guiding their joined hands to the tabletop. The wet heat of Frank’s tongue sent goosebumps scattering over Gerard’s back. The air damp with their own humidity, it was all Gerard could do but brace his hands on the table. Feeling their hands find a secure hold, Frank let go and traced his fingers back up Gerard’s arms. Wave after wave of goosebumps trailed in their wake. Caressing up his shoulders and down the delicate flesh of his underarms, Gerard groaned in the sheer sensuality of it all. He heard a small tingle as Frank slid his jeans the rest of the way off.

 

   His mouth still relishing the taste that was so purely Gerard, Frank licked and bit his way down Gerard’s spine. The skin there was so deliciously salty, another mineral rare in their current situation. The flavor burned his tongue, and heightened everything he was tasting. Cigarettes, basements, and rain. God, Frank missed rain. Frank dropped to his knees, the linoleum making a squeaking noise against Frank’s own sweat.

 

   Decaying leaves and beat-up cars with beat-up music beaded up against Gerard’s skin, as Frank chased the flavor down to the small of Gerard’s back. Gerard’s ass was soft and luminous in the wash of the moon. Shadowed by Gerard’s silhouette, Frank could see a tiny little freckle on the right cheek. Wrinkling his nose and biting back a laugh, he pressed his lips to the shape. Gerard started a bit, realization dawning on him. His knees quivered under the torture Frank was putting him through.

 

   Frank licked and sucked his way down to the underside of the clef, playing with the area where Gerard’s ass met his thigh. Running his fingertips against the back of Gerard’s thigh, Frank chuckled softly when sounds of slapping palms met his ears. Gerard was desperately grappling for something to hold on to, the tabletop slick against his sweaty palms. Gerard tossed his hair out of his eyes, trying to keep a grip on himself. His hair was damp already, the color becoming a dark burgundy in the blue light. Frank chuckled against the sensitive flesh of Gerard’s ass, dropping one hand down to his discarded jeans, searching around in the pockets. Fingering the crinkly paper, he yanked the small packet from his front pocket. Tearing it open with his teeth, he poured the contents into his mouth.

 

   A burst of sweet, sugary watermelon coated his mouth, instantly causing him to salivate. The small candy rocks burst and tingled on his tongue as they met with his spit. Crunching the rocks down to a smaller size, he gently wedged Gerard’s ankles apart with his knees. Frank pushed his cheeks apart and pushed the flat of his tongue against him.

 

   The fizzle and pop on his tongue tingled right up against Gerard’s entrance, sending a warm, vibrating feeling through Gerard’s veins. He bit back a shriek at the bubbly feeling mixed with the gentle lap of Frank’s tongue. The candy mixture was slick and warm with the kinetic energy of Frank’s mouth as he delved in and swirled against him. Rough and soft at the same time, the muscle worked over the hole, coating it in the sugary slick substance. 

  
   
   Dipping in and flicking upwards, Frank teased in long sweeping licks. Pushing in harder, he swirled around in deep circles, listening to Gerard scramble harder against the smooth table top. The flat of Frank’s tongue slid down to Gerard’s perineum, pressing in small circles against his shuddering skin. 

 

   “Fr-Frank, please.” Gerard didn’t know what he was begging for, but his skin was on fire. He would literally crawl out of it if Frank wasn’t holding on to his thighs so tight. Frank licked his way back up to Gerard’s entrance, dipping his tongue in again. Swirling faster and wetter against Gerard, he stuck one of his fingers in his mouth, coating it in the now clear fluid of his saliva.

 

   Spreading Gerard apart further, he pressed in with his middle finger. Licking and sucking around the finger, he prodded further into Gerard than he could with just his tongue. Gerard released a deep, appreciative moan that echoed through Frank’s hand and mouth.

 

   The sound was mouth-watering by itself. Frank rolled the dying taste of watermelon through this lips as they fluttered and licked against Gerard. He slipped his index finger, wet and slick, in next. Scissoring gently, he swirled his tongue around the outer edges. Moving over to Gerard’s left cheek, he bit and kissed his way across the smooth pale flesh. Creamy and flawless on this side, Frank sucked a dark hickey on the globe as he hooked his fingers down.

 

   “Ah, ah, ah,” Gerard panted above him. “Christ, Frankie--that’s the spot. That’s it. Fuck.”

 

   Frank smirked against Gerard’s smooth skin, giving it on last parting lick, before sliding flush against him. Pushing the palm of his left hand against Gerard’s ribcage, he counted the ribs lining his torso. The skin bunched a little and stretched with the drag of Frank’s hand. Still scissoring deep inside Gerard, he pet down his shoulder. His hands were the sensual image of graffiti against purity.

 

   Gerard rolled his head to the side, exposing the pale column of flesh patterned with the red dye of a warrior. Turned purple by the heavy moon, the markings shimmered with droplets of sweat. His red hair was damp as it hung in tendrils against his neck. Frank licked a slow hot line up the side of Gerard’s neck. From the joining at the shoulder all the way up to his ear lobe, he trailed his hot, pulsating muscle. Simultaneously joining his ring finger with the other two buried deep inside Gerard, he hummed and breathed against the shell of his ear. Pumping them in and out against the pull of Gerard’s body, Frank nosed against the small plate again.

 

   “Ah!” A twist of his fingers again. “Oh fuck--Frank!”

   Frank smiled deviously and licked at the plate, trailing his tongue down to Gerard’s nape. Sucking on the protruding bump of his vertebrae, Frank curled down again. Feeling the tiny mound of nerves deep inside of Gerard, he held on to as Gerard bucked back against him. Nearly knocking Frank over, Gerard crawled his fingers over the smooth surface of the table. Gasping and shaking, he reached one hand behind his head and pulled Frank’s cheek against his.

 

   “I’m ready. Like, I’m really, really ready.”

 

   Frank couldn’t help but smile at the desperation in Gerard’s voice. He hadn’t heard such a sweet sound in a very long time. A voice strained against pleasure, vocal chords drawn tight against surging arousal, Gerard whispered huskily into the side of Frank’s face.

 

   “Please, Frank. Fuck me, Please. Fuck me.”

 

   Gerard was shooting off at the mouth, rambling incoherently as Frank kept pushing his fingers against the satiny bulb inside.

 

   Trying to control his voice he asked lowly, “Your bag?”

 

   Gerard surged forward with his arms, while pushing backwards with his hips. This was an exercise in trust. Frank could push Gerard to insanity and still maintain his cool. It was power, in it’s purest form. To know that even in a situation where Gerard is being reckless, he could depend on Frank to protect him. The thought turned Frank on to no end as he slipped a condom and two packets of lube from his canvas bag over to Frank. Passing them over his shoulder, he pushed himself back up, widening his legs, waiting for Frank.

 

   Frank tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth and spit the foil on the ground. Gently slipping his fingers out of Gerard, he rolled the condom on. Smooth latex covered his cock as he fit it over his swollen head. The lube was clear and cool against the heat of his erection as he spread it diligently over himself. Using the last little bit on his fingers, he rubbed it gently against Gerard’s entrance. With a shuddering sigh, he lined himself up with Gerard.

 

   Licking at the shell of Gerard’s ear, he whispered, “Are you ready?”

 

   Gerard just mouthed over and over against the humid air hanging in front of him.

 

   “Please, please--”

 

   Frank grasped onto Gerard’s hips, pushing in with a slow gentle thrust. Inch by inch, Frank sunk into the warm heat that was Gerard. It was like having tunnel vision with his whole body. He was just being sucked into a vortex of heat and moisture; of Gerard panting and writhing under him.

 

   “Oh fuck, Frank. God fucking damn it. That feels really fucking good.”

 

   Frank paused once he was sheathed all the way to the hilt, his balls brushing against the back of Gerard’s ass in a delicious way. Gerard pulsated and quivered all around him. Scratching his little blunt finger nails over the table again, he undulated against Frank.

 

   “Please, Frank. Move.”

 

   Frank pulled back almost all the way out before pushing slowly in again. The feel of Gerard all tense and hot around him was driving him up a wall. Dragging himself back again, he pushed back in with a little more force.

 

   “Uh, ah God,” Gerard moaned deep in his chest.

 

   Frank curved the small of his back and thrust in again. Angling downwards the slightest, he could feel himself come into contact with the satiny bundle again. He pulled out and thrust in again, going for a direct hit to Gerard’s prostate. Gerard let loose a string of garbled moans and curses, pushing back against the table. Frank pulled out almost all the way before thrusting in deep and slow. Scratching his nails down Gerard’s back, he left tiny rows of pink raised skin. Gerard arched into the sensation, at the same time trying to push down harder against his prostate. Frank was teasing him, licking the side of his neck and just holding still. If Frank didn’t move, Gerard was going to die. Hanging his head between his braced arms, he rotated his hips in circle. He could hear Frank suck in his breath against his skin.

 

   Tossing his head to the side, he growled out, “Ugh, please Frank.”

 

   Frank licked at his neck and pulled out again, this time thrusting in with a quick shallow thrust. He repeated the action three more times before Gerard slammed his hand on the table.

 

   “Frank, fucking fuck me all ready, Jesus Ch-”

 

   Frank thrusted in deep again, nipping lightly at the plate at the base of Gerard’s neck. Gerard hissed through his teeth as tremors rocked his body. His hair shook and twitched against his creamy shoulder, adding to the sensation. His body arched and slithered against Frank’s in rolling waves as Frank slid in and out of him. Frank curved downward again, striking his prostate in time with his bites. Gerard was seeing stars.

 

   Spreading his fingers across the small of Gerard’s back, he gripped Gerard’s hips. Fingers dipping into the dimples above his pelvic bone, Frank held on and sped up. For every fifth thrust, Frank bit at the plate in Gerard’s neck, licking in between. Gerard was doing his best to keep breathing. The air was filled with the slick sound of flesh begging for flesh. Gerard’s pants drowning out Frank’s gentle moans. Sucking air in his lungs against the onslaught of his body, Gerard held on to one of Frank’s hands gripped on his hip.

 

   “Ah--shhhh--hah---shhh,” the sizzling noise of air being violently sucked between clenched teeth. Frank soothed Gerard’s molted neck with more licks before biting it again.

 

   “Ah, ah, ah my god Frank. I’m fucking close.”

 

   Frank smiled against the plate, sending more shockwaves down Gerard’s spine. Dropping his right hand from Gerard’s hips, he gripped Gerard’s aching cock. It was soaked in pre-come, and Frank smiled wider against Gerard’s neck. Palming the head, Frank thrust in hard again. He was close too, the sounds escaping Gerard’s mouth piercing his body. Swiveling his hand down Gerard’s shaft, he whispered hotly in Gerard’s ear.

 

   “Come for me Gee. Please, I want to feel it.”

 

   He slowed his thrusts down, rolling deep and hard against the tiny bundle deep inside of Gerard. Scarping his teeth over the metal plate, he locked his lips around it and sucked hard. Gerard was sobbing out the wave of sensations. Squeaking and hissing alternating with low, deep groans. Gerard was scrambling for something to hold on to, until he latched onto Frank’s arms. Tiny bitten down fingernails dug into Frank’s tattooed skin as Gerard’s orgasm ripped through him.

 

   “Oh, fuck--fuck, fuck, fuck,” Gerard gasped and sobbed into the humid air. “Frank.”

 

   Frank felt the world closing in as Gerard quaked from head to toe, clenching all around him. Salty sea water rushed from out of Gerard’s body and covered Frank’s hand. Slick fingers milking out Gerard’s orgasm, Frank snapped his hips forward. Gerard pulsating hotly around him, he couldn’t hold back the loud, incoherent noise he made when he came. Back rigid as his own orgasm rocked him in waves, he stared down at the rolling creamy flesh writhing against him. Sweating and moaning, Frank followed the curve of Gerard’s collapsed body down to the table top. Panting openly between his lips, Frank nestled his chin against Gerard’s shuddering shoulder.

 

   Brushing red hair away from the slim nape there, he rubbed his nose against Gerard’s dye job. Taking his ear lobe between his teeth, he lapped gently at it as he pulled out of Gerard’s body. Backing off enough to let Gerard turn and face him, he stepped forward to embrace him. Both hands wrapped around Frank‘s neck, skin sticking together with the heat of the desert and the humidity of themselves, Gerard breathed against Frank’s lips.

 

   “Stay.”

 

   He pulled Gerard closer and pressed their chests together. In a world where he may be dead within hours, Frank churned around the idea of love. There was no time for slow secrets, first dates, or quiet crushes. There is only today. As far as they were concerned, tomorrow didn’t even exist. That didn’t mean he couldn’t fall in love. He hadn’t felt this way since before the bombs fell.

 

   He hadn’t felt this way his entire life.

 

   Clear, oceanic eyes gazed into his through thick dark lashes. The red spot riding high on his cheek as he stroked the side of Frank’s with his fingertips. Tipping their foreheads together, Frank rubbed his nose slowly against Gerard’s.

 

   “Alright.”

 

   Gerard’s smile broke out broad and wide even in their close proximity. The moon outside lighting his tiny white teeth, Gerard giggled into Frank’s mouth as his lips sealed over his. Muscles working slow and lazy, their tongues pressed together warmly. Frank’s velvet tip tracing the ridges on the roof of Gerard’s mouth. Frank ran his hands up Gerard’s spine, sliding up the sweat beading on the skin. Breaking the kiss with a gasp, Gerard laughed again.

 

   “Stop, stop. We have to get to sleep now, Mikey will be back soon. I don’t want him walking in to all this.”

 

   Frank smirked in the darkness, watching the moon illuminate Gerard’s crimson locks.

 

   “What? Are you ashamed of me?”

 

   Gerard head thunked against Frank’s chest.

 

   “No, I’m not. I just don’t want to scar my brother,” he lifted his head again to stare into Frank’s eyes. “And I don’t want him getting any ideas. You’re mine!”

 

   Frank laughed and pulled Gerard into a hug. Feeling the stickiness between their bodies, Frank frowned a little. Remembering the condom still on him, he frowned harder. Gerard pulled back and scrunched his nose cutely.

 

   “Maybe we should get cleaned up?”

 

   Frank nodded and hobbled off toward the trash can next to the counter. Disposing of the condom, he followed the trail of his clothing across the chipped linoleum floor. The lights were still out, and there was an inch of dust on the counter, but Frank felt an over-whelming sense of peace. Gerard was sliding his jeans up his hips and turning back to Frank. Gerard’s dye job was nearly black from the angle of the moon.

 

   He turned his pale, perfect face toward Frank and whispered warmly, “Welcome home.”

 

   Frank fell asleep cramped in a vinyl booth with Gerard’s head resting on his chest. He didn’t believe in luck, but nothing else could explain how he got here. Gerard nuzzled against the fabric stretched over his chest, drooling a bit on the ‘E’ in ‘Demolition’. As the spindly strands of scarlet crashed and receded with each breath he took, he held on tightly to Gerard’s shoulders; silently hoping they’d live to see the next day.

 

    
   Frank awoke to the smell of latex and ozone in the air. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he slowly sat up from the dining booth. The cracked vinyl left sprawling wrinkles across the left side of his face. Looking around, Frank noticed that Gerard was gone. Maybe he left him for dead. It wasn't unheard of, nor would it be the first time Frank had something like that happen to him. There was a blinding sensation of pain that had nothing to do with the unforgiving desert sun pouring through the broken windows. Frank thought about flaming red hair and smooth pale skin. Gentle eyes and a crooked smile sighing out his love.

 

   What Frank wouldn't give just to see the briny waters of Gerard's eyes right now. He could care less about the stifling heat, or the heavy smell of scrubbed oxygen in the air. He was content with laying back down on the dusty vinyl bench and dying. He had found home and let it escape again. Depressed and more than a little hot, he turned an inquisitive eye behind him.

 

   A red leather jacket and blond hair was all Frank could make out, as he stared cross-eyed down a laser barrel.

 

   Frank was practically kissing the barrel, it was so close. A hot wind blew from behind the man, and Frank realized it was the guy that smelled like latex. It mingled with something metallic and sweet. Something maybe a bit human, once upon a time, lingered. Burning flesh and ozone. The guy reeked.

 

   "You smell like blood and latex," Frank sneered down the barrel. He was going to die with his mask on. Today's mask was defiance. It was the mask of a man who found what he needed in life, and let it drift back across the desert. It was the mask of someone who'd lost hope a long time ago.

 

   Leather gloves squeaked on the handle of the laser gun, as the man gripped tighter. "You smell like latex," he ground out. "Sweat, and fire."

 

   The man cocked his gun and stared down at Frank. Frank with his mask set firmly in place, smiled a bright and maniacal smile back. He's not about to beg this guy for his life. He doesn't need to. He'd found everything he'd ever needed last night in this very spot. Frank held his position, gleefully awaiting the smell of ozone and burning skin. One thought was running in circles through his head.

 

   Die with your mask on fucker.

 

   Leather squeaked against the trigger, when suddenly the diner door opened with a tingle from the broken bell. Flaming red hair appeared on the doorway, thin pale arms balancing some battered boxes. Like the proverbial knight in shining armor, Gerard glided into the diner in his dusty sleeveless t-shirt and ratty jeans. Placing his boxes on the nearby counter top, he crossed the room in three long strides. His boots clomped heavily against the worn linoleum as he stopped behind the man. Putting his un-gloved hand over the slider on the gun, he pushed it down slowly. The red marks shimmered brightly in the morning sun. Frank let his eyes drift from the man in front of him to the crimson locks beside him. With a pinched sort of smile that was probably used to reprimand, Gerard pushed the gun back into the holster on the man's thigh.

 

   "He's mine."

 

   The man's eyebrows shot up his face as he turned to Gerard. His eyes pinned Gerard with a look, as Gerard just kept his gaze fixated on Frank. Relief, adoration, and a wobbly sort of feeling that Frank identified with missing someone and getting them back flooded his system. He was drowning, he was flying, he was choking on the overwhelming sensations. He let his mask face from his face, and let it contort into something else entirely.

 

   "He smells like latex," The man protested. If you could call that protesting. He just used the same flat tone he'd used on Frank.

 

   "And?" Gerard asked as he quirked his lip to the side, and jutted his hip out. He still didn't look at the man.

 

   "And?" The man looked harder at Frank. Nose twitching in the air subtly, barely even noticeable, he frowned. "And-- you. He smells like you Gee."

 

   Gerard let his teeth come out as he laughed gently at the man. He never once took his eyes off of Frank's. Frank at least had the decency to blush, before drinking in the sight of his savior. Fresh paint covered up the purple marks Frank left last night. He missed one on his collar bone though, just barely peeking up and over Gerard's stretched t-shirt. Frank blushed deeper, remembering the hushed confessions of last night, and the twisting arousal curling around his chest. This was his first time seeing Gerard in the daylight. He was even more gorgeous, red color dampening the air with it's acrylic smell. Desert wind tossing his crimson locks against the column of his neck, Gerard licked his lips with intent.

 

   "He has bombs in his eyes Gee. Bombs." The guy shifted side to side, trying to get Gerard's attention again. Gerard finally released Frank from his gaze and turned to the man.  Frank was just short of openly panting, with the way Gerard was looking at him. Intensity was a good look on him, Frank decided. Next time, he'll have to make sure Gerard's facing him.

 

   "I know. That's why I like him so much." Gerard winked at Frank and pushed playfully at the man's shoulder.

 

   "Frank, this is Kid Kobra; my brother, Mikey."

 

   Frank glanced back and forth between them and noticed their matching Atlantic eyes. He would have noticed sooner if he wasn't pinned first with Mikey's gun and then Gerard's visual assault. Frank grunted at his own stupidity and shoved his hand out.

 

   "I'm Frank. I don't have an alias."

 

   Mikey's handshake was warm and firm, if not a little short. It reminded Frank of the kids back in Jersey. The ones who used to shake his hand and buy him a beer after a great set. The ones who insisted he should tour out west, he would only be gone two weeks. The ones who burned with the rest of New Jersey.

 

   "We can fix that," Gerard said happily as he turned back to the counter. Picking up the battered boxes again, he turned back to Frank and Mikey.

 

   "Pancakes?"

 

   The batter was whipped together with pancake mix and dehydrated milk. The gooey substance was frying away on a real gas stove. Frank hadn't seen one for almost ten years.

 

   Gerard was busy putting filters into the industrial coffee machine, an old standard for diners across America. He hummed a quiet tune, off key and accidentally endearing. Frank grinned lazily at Gerard, enjoying this small moment of bliss. Fresh water was brought into the room by and man with rather impressive hair. He looked Frank up and down slowly before pursing his lips together. Turning back to Gerard, he handled him the jug.

 

   Speaking only to Gerard, but loud enough for Frank to hear, he asked, "You love him?"

 

   Gerard was whipping together more batter, the muscles in his shoulders flexing and working through his thin t-shirt.

 

   "Yeah, I love him. Loved him a lot last night too. Right on that table behind you." He made a vague sort of waving motion in the direction of Frank's table.

 

   Frank thought he might seriously explode from embarrassment. That was a new feeling for him. He didn't know he was even capable of feeling embarrassment after living in the desert for the last seven years. Luckily, the man was exploding for him.

 

   "What the fuck Gerard? I eat on that damn table!"

 

   Gerard's laugh bubbled out from his throat, and he had to put a hand over his mouth to contain the snot that flew out of his nose. It was disgusting. It was rude and hilarious. It was adorable. The red on his neck shimmered and convulsed as he laughed uproariously. Frank hid his own laughter behind the back of his hand. The man scratched his head through his flowing locks, clearly not getting the joke. Rubbing his nose with the collar of his t-shirt, Gerard wiped his eyes and turned to Frank.

 

   "This is Ray, A.K.A. Jet Star."

 

   Frank stretched his arm out to shake Ray's hand, when a little girl came barreling in through the diner doors.

 

   "Uncle Ray! Uncle Gee! I smell panca-" The little girl came to a stop in front of Frank. Frank's eyes went wide as the laughter died in his throat. She had clear green eyes, and gorgeous soft curls. Tanned by the desert sun, the dainty freckles on her nose stuck out. Frank hadn't seen a child in seven years. Seven whole years without seeing a single person under the age of twenty-two. She was precious. She was beautiful. She made something shining and protective shake off the rust. Frank slid off of the vinyl to his knees in front of the little girl. She looked about seven years old. If his little girls had lived, they would have been her age.

 

   Frank could feel Gerard slide to his knees beside them. Putting a hand on Frank's shoulder and gently pulling him closer he whispered into Frank's hair.

 

   "This is Grace."

 

   Frank let the name roll around on his tongue as he tried not to swallow it.

 

   Grace, the name of the savior Frank had forsaken. Grace, who had set fire to his family and left him to rot in the desert. Grace, who had come to him in the form of a little girl. In her eyes he could see a perfect world. Not the kind that was scrubbed and sterilized; the kind where music is everywhere, and love really is the answer to everything. A world where freedom isn't an idea, but a fact. A world where little girls like her don't have to suffer in the desert. A world where little girls like her don't have bombs dropped on them.

 

   Slowly, Frank let Gerard push them together. Automatically wrapping his arms around her tiny frame, he let his face sink into her soft hair. She smelled like bubble solution and cotton candy. She smelled like green summers where rain came every three days. She was so delicate; the very idea of her existence was fragile. Frank silently swore to himself that he'd protect her no matter what. Gerard pet the back of his head, rubbing circles in his neck as if he could read his mind. Frank let go and sat on his heels.

 

   “I’m Frankie,“ He smiled then. A real smile. One that stretched his face and gave him little waves of skin around his mouth. He hadn't smiled that way in a long time. His lips felt stretched and cracked, but he relished in the feeling. Grace looked up at him with her infinite eyes an smiled back.

 

   Gerard cleared his throat, Grace turning toward him.

 

   "You were saying Gracie?"

 

   She tilted her head to the side before remembering what she wanted to say.

 

   "I smell pancakes burning?"

 

   Gerard's eyes went comically wide as he made a mad dash for the pancakes sizzling away on the stove top. Frank laughed at his flailing arms, desperately trying to remove breakfast from the flames. Frank got up from the floor and walked to where Gerard held the blackened pan to his face. Circular charred objects looked back up at Frank. Placing his hand over Gerard's he took the pan from him to scrape the remains outside. Returning, Gerard was already whipping the batter together, beating it with more force than necessary. Frank let a cheeky grin slide up his face as he took the bowl from Gerard. Looking around the diner, it seemed as though everyone had vacated in order to let Gerard cook. Frank leaned over the bowl and kissed the tip of Gerard's nose.

  
   Pushing against the tiny freckle on the tip, Frank fought back that terrible choking feeling again.

 

   Love, home, family; he thought he'd never see them again. Even though it's different now, somehow it seems so much better. He would protect this one with his life. 

 

   Gerard chuckled when Frank peeled his lips away. "Now make me pancakes!"

 

   Frank slapped his ass, maybe damaging his hand more than Gerard. His ass was rather formidable.

 

   "Va Fangool."

 

   Gerard stopped laughing and looked into Frank's eyes. "What?"

 

   Frank smiled a little harder before letting it dim down. "It's old Italian for fuck you."

 

   He chuckled a little bit more at the old saying his Grandpa used to say. The man was always thinking of 'the old country' despite being born and raised in Jersey like the rest of the family.

 

   Gerard had this crazy sparkle in his eyes that Frank wasn't sure if he liked or not. Turning back to the stove, he started to pour the batter into the pan. Sizzling loudly and popping happily, Frank thought back to lazy Sunday mornings with his mother complaining over Vegan pancakes. Being Vegan was also a thing of the past. He was still Vegetarian, but it was getting tougher to figure out what exactly was going into that Power Pup stuff.

 

   "That's it!" Gerard squeaked and clapped his hands together. "That's your new name!"

 

   "Huh?" Frank flipped the first set of pancakes.

 

   "Fangool. Only it's spelled F-U-N--"

 

   "What? My name can't be 'fuck you'--"

 

   "G-H-O-U-L. Perfect!"

 

   "No way! I can't be named Fun Ghoul! That's ridiculous-"

 

   "I'm going to go tell the guys. I'll let them know breakfast is ready too." Gerard cupped Frank's shoulders with his palms and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

   
   "I-" Frank stopped and sniffed the air. Somewhere under the delicious smell of frying pancakes, and the musky scent of Gerard; he could smell it.

 

   "I smell latex."

 

   Gerard nodded and let his smile drop off of his face. Furrowing his eyebrows, grabbed Frank by the back of his neck and kissed him again. This one was for luck. It was for courage. It was just in case he could never do it again.

 

   Gerard took a step backwards, the red markings showing bright and proud stretched over his throat. Frank bit his lip ring, rotating it in the morning sun. Gerard turned on his heel and went to go find the rest of their companions outside. Frank knew the smell was still off for about another two hours, but it could very well be the last two hours of their lives.

 

   He took the pancakes off of the stove, and poured coffee for everyone. The booth he'd set up was as far away from the one he and Gerard shared as possible. Ray was right, there were only so many useable tables in the diner. Frank had to bite back a smug grin as he remembered noises Gerard made when he sucked on his plate. Still off in his daydream, he didn't notice the others slide into the booth around him.

 

   "Frank, come sit down and eat." That was Gerard, tugging on his pant leg to guide him into the seat next to him.

 

   "Wow! Look at these pancakes!" Ray dug into his short stack, cramming an impossible amount into his mouth.

 

   "And coffee Frank? We're keeping you forever." Mikey drank his coffee tentatively, the liquid still scorching hot.

 

   "Thank you," said Grace as she tried to cut her pancakes before Ray helped her.

 

   Ray and Mikey looked up from their breakfast and looked inquisitively at Gerard.

 

   "So, what's his name?" Mikey asked.

 

   "Fun Ghoul," Gerard said nonchalantly.

 

   Ray almost spit out his hulking mouthful.

 

   "Gee, you can't name him that! What about Grace?"

 

   "What's a Fun Ghoul?" Grace asked very innocently. Frank looked into her eyes before looking over at Gerard's. There was a rip-tide in them, accompanied by the smell of latex getting stronger.

 

   "It's me baby. I'm Fun Ghoul. Don't tell anyone though."

 

   Grace smiled because she had no idea what kind of exchange was going on between the adults. Frank smiled because he knew very well what was happening. Mikey shook his head and went back to finishing his pancakes. Ray was already out of the booth and packing things together to take with them. The Trans Am roared to life when he took the packs outside. Mikey got up with his plate and went out front to battle the rickety vending machine for supplies, Grace on his heels with her Vend-a-Hack. Frank relished in the sweetness of his pancakes, noticing that Gerard was done before him.

 

   Gerard lifted his fork to his lips, running the prongs smoothly over plump flesh of his bottom lip. Even with the latex foam starting to wash over the blue horizon of the desert, he smiled brightly. Reaching out a hand to stroke Frank's cheek, he whispered fondly,

 

   "Welcome home Frankie."

 

   Frank laced his fingers through Gerard’s and smiled back.

 

   "Home."


End file.
